


glad you came

by bananas



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, mini fic prompt challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 18:52:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananas/pseuds/bananas
Summary: HELLO i am back to shoving paki ships down all of yalls throats so get ready kids!i understand that there are other fics i will be writing for this challenge but, no offense to the other prompters, this is probably be only posting this one here but im not sureee, ill see.anyway, some background for this fic: everyone knows the iconic fast bowling duo wasim akram and waqar younis who no one (read: NO ONE) compares to. now, wasim and waqar actually hated each other for most of their careers. this fic is a lighter take on their hatred and its evolution into not-hatred. in reality, their hatred was much, much more ugly. even now, they're still a bit off with each other and it makes me vvv sad.also, not much urdu in this fic but for ref:begummeans wife but over here it's used as a term of endearment for your wife as well andhaan haan bilkulmeans yes, yes, sure.this is for the lovely s, who I had promised to a wasim/waqar fic to for so long. I'm still writing the one i originally started for you but i hope you like this one in the mean time <3also gosh, look at that the wanted ref in my fic name UGH the 1d stan in me is disgusted





	glad you came

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO i am back to shoving paki ships down all of yalls throats so get ready kids!
> 
> i understand that there are other fics i will be writing for this challenge but, no offense to the other prompters, this is probably be only posting this one here but im not sureee, ill see.  
> anyway, some background for this fic: everyone knows the iconic fast bowling duo wasim akram and waqar younis who no one (read: NO ONE) compares to. now, wasim and waqar actually hated each other for most of their careers. this fic is a lighter take on their hatred and its evolution into not-hatred. in reality, their hatred was much, much more ugly. even now, they're still a bit off with each other and it makes me vvv sad. 
> 
> also, not much urdu in this fic but for ref: _begum_ means wife but over here it's used as a term of endearment for your wife as well and _haan haan bilkul_ means yes, yes, sure.
> 
> this is for the lovely s, who I had promised to a wasim/waqar fic to for so long. I'm still writing the one i originally started for you but i hope you like this one in the mean time <3
> 
> also gosh, look at that the wanted ref in my fic name UGH the 1d stan in me is disgusted

State dinners were a bore, Waqar had complained to Javed, as they endured their final suit fittings just hours prior to their scheduled dinner at the President’s residence in Islamabad. Waqar knew that this particular gathering would be worse than normal because, like everything had been after the 1992 World Cup final, tonight would probably be all about Wasim. Not that he cared, Waqar insisted; after all, he was far above and beyond caring about anything to do with the ridiculously tall fast bowler who had marked Waqar as his rival all those years ago. Waqar had better things to do than to give heed to the hype around Wasim.

Javed had just nodded and agreed convincingly at the end of Waqar’s rant ( _“Haan, haan. Bikul.”)_ as he allowed the tailor to adjust the jacket on his shoulders and Waqar would’ve fallen for it, had he not seen the smile that Javed was biting back and in response he gave Javed his best glare, the one that made Sachin weak and Martin Crowe cry (he hoped).

He had called out after Javed as he left, insisting for the millionth time, that he didn’t care about the annoying, and at times infuriating, pacer with his ridiculous fast bowler hair and his bean pole body that towered over everyone wherever they went, making him impossible to miss or ignore even when Waqar had made a significant effort to do so.

The tailor, now adjusting the collar on his shirt, raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything and Waqar ignored him.

-

“I don’t want to go tonight,” Waqar complained yet again and Javed sighed as his wife shook her head fondly at them.

“Give it a chance Waqar. I heard some junior government officers will be present as well. Maybe you’ll finally find yourself a nice girl tonight,” she said, readjusting the _dupatta_ on her head and Javed snorted.

“Fat chance,” he said and Waqar was inclined to agree; there was very little chance he’d be falling in love with a girl tonight or any other night.

Javed, however, wasn’t exactly on the same track as him.

“Waqar already has his eye on someone _begum_ , he’s just a bit too stubborn to admit it, let alone make a move. Aren’t you Waqar?” Javed grinned wickedly at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Waqar said coolly, re-buttoning his cuffs and stepping off the elevator, ignoring Mrs. Javed’s inquisitive looks and Javed’s cackle behind him.

-

In an attempt to ensure perfection as always, Imran had arranged for a room in the hotel for the team and their families to meet before heading to the Presidential house. It would help to interact with each other and to calm everyone’s nerves before the dinner, he said, but Waqar had a feeling that he meant to just make sure that no one stumbled in to the dinner late, thereby giving Imran and his iron fist of captaincy a bad name.

But if Imran had meant to calm the boys down before the dinner, Waqar mused, it didn’t seem to be working. He’d walked in to the transformed meeting room on the hotel’s ground floor, designated for their little pre-dinner gathering, to find all the chairs and tables in the room pushed to one end and the families crowded on each available seat there and the rest of the room was now being used as a miniature cricket pitch, with a plastic bat, ball and wicket and with every junior member of the squad enthusiastically participating.

Waqar observed the scene with raised eyebrows and dodged an enthusiastic throw from Zahid as he made his way to the refreshments table in the corner.

A quick glance at all the filled glasses told Waqar that the beverage he really needed right now wasn’t here but he gulped down a glass of Pakola anyway.

“Jesus, I need something stronger than that,” he muttered, reaching for another glass as the players behind him cheered for a wicket or a four or a six or a broken window.

“Say that any louder and they might just stone you,” said a familiar voice from behind him and Waqar swiveled around instantly to find Wasim smiling slightly at him. He reached around Waqar for a glass, his arm brushing Waqar’s waist lightly.

“If I’m lucky,” Waqar said and Wasim laughed.

He came to stand next to him, leaning against the table and pushing it back slightly with his weight.

“So are you excited for tonight then? I heard Immy say they’re giving us each another million,” Wasim said conversationally, lifting the glass to his lips and Waqar did his best to not stare at his throat as he emptied the glass in one go.

“Again?” Waqar asked, his voice slightly high-pitched but not enough to notice, he hoped.

“Yeah, I know right. I’m probably giving mine to Imran’s hospital fund again.”

“Yeah, yeah. Me too.” Waqar tore his eyes off Wasim as another roar filled the room, this time because Zahid, positioned near the door of the room, had taken a clean catch to dismiss Inzi.

A few minutes of silence lapsed between them, punctuated only with Wasim’s refusals to join the guys’ cricket game when Aaqib came to ask multiple times.

“You look nice tonight,” Wasim blurted all of a sudden, ending the quiet between them and Waqar raised his eyebrows and stared at him.

“I mean,” he said, clearly flustered and refusing to meet Waqar’s eye, “your suit is nice. I like it. Who made it?”

“The same person who made all of our suits, Was,” Waqar said slowly and Wasim’s tan skin turned redder.

“Oh, right,” he said, still looking anywhere but at Waqar.

It was a strange sight to behold, watching the tall man, who was so confident and fierce on the field, now a fumbling, stuttering mess in front of him but Waqar was no fool. He understood the look in Wasim’s eyes and the meaning of the flutter in his own chest and he knew then that it was now or never.

“Wasim, listen I-”

But a cut shot, courtesy of Zahid, ended his sentence just as it began as the ball, though plastic, came sailing straight at Waqar without warning and it hit him right where it hurts so instead of the smooth and, possibly, poetic declaration of love Waqar had planned to deliver, a strangled shout followed by a groan and Waqar collapsing to the ground was all Wasim got.

The new few minutes were a daze of pain and Wasim’s hand in Waqar’s as he shouted for an ice pack and Waqar’s consequent embarrassing moan as the cold soothed his pain. Waqar’s grip on Wasim’s hand relatively loosened after a while and, as his senses restored, he realized that the hard carpet of the hotel was no longer underneath his head and instead, his head was rested on Wasim’s lap and Wasim’s other hand was stroking his hair as he grimaced his way through his injury.

He regretted his hearing returning as the subsiding pain allowed him to now hear Imran shouting at Zahid and the rest of the guys for playing indoors and injuring Waqar.

“This is worse than time you planted that whoopee cushion on my chair during the staff meeting, Zahid,” Imran said menacingly. “Do you know what that means?”

“Immy _bhai,_ please. I’m sorry,” Zahid pleaded.

“Sorry doesn't work here, Zahid," Imran said grimly. "1000 laps of the NCA field and 1000 laps of the pool at the next team practice. And you’ll be hosting the next team dinner.”

Zahid’s protests were drowned then as the weight of the ice pack adjusted and Waqar groaned as the physio apologized profusely.

A few more minutes of intense pain and Imran descended on them, informing them that they needed to get up and get a move on if they were to reach the dinner on time. Waqar gave him his best glare until Wasim protested as well, saying Waqar needed at least a few minutes more to regain his strength so, obviously, Waqar stood up immediately with his best poker face hiding the pain he was in, because how dare Wasim suggest Waqar was weak? A little bruise wasn’t going to stop Waqar from attending the dinner on time, even if he had to physically stop himself from waddling and grimacing the entire time.

He swayed slightly as he stood up, fighting back the pain and Wasim’s arm slid across his waist to steady him. Waqar resisted the instinctive urge to move out of his grasp, mostly because he found that he didn’t actually want to move away.

Waqar continued to lean on Wasim, allowing his tall frame to tower over him and hold him upright till they reached the Presidential house where, following Imran’s whispered admonition, they moved apart, knowing that entering like that in front of the media and the top government officials would be much more trouble than it was worth.

Wasim stayed close to Waqar however, and Waqar felt his presence right behind him as they entered the government building amid camera flashes and cheering fans.

-

Waqar was wrong about the state dinner being the Wasim show and after three hours of continuous conversation about every single delivery he had bowled during the world cup campaign, he was happy to escape the crowded room for the quiet of the corridor. He wandered aimlessly until he reached the end of the hall marked by a glass door and a balcony overlooking the city. A shadow stood staring into the distance and, even though Wasim’s back was to him, Waqar would’ve recognized that tall, lanky frame anywhere.

“Hey,” he said softly as he unlocked the balcony door and Wasim turned instantly at the sound of his voice.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” he asked and Waqar sighed leaning over the balcony, watching the city lights twinkle back at them.

“Better, I think. Doesn’t hurt as much, now.”

Wasim nodded, body shifting to face the view again, instead of Waqar.

“About earlier,” Waqar began hesitantly, eyes fixed on Wasim, watching for his reaction, “I have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Wasim asked, eyes hopeful and Waqar forgot everything he had planned to say. Instead, he leaned in, pulling Wasim’s head down to meet his and allowed himself to sink into the kiss.

-

Waqar stumbled back into the dinner party some time later and he valiantly attempted to wipe the dazed expression off his face but to no avail.

“But Javed, state dinners are _so_ boring. I don’t want to go, Javed. I can just not show up. It’ll be so horribly dull, Javed,” Javed mimicked Waqar’s voice from behind him, making him sound much more high-pitched and whiny than he actually sounded, Waqar was sure.

Waqar rolled his eyes, shoving his friend away and Javed laughed.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” Javed asked, his grin infectious.

“Yeah,” Waqar said, smiling softly. “I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> ugh its so short im sorry, i wish it was longer but i am sleepy and dying so goodbye.
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> come say hi: [tumblr](http://storm-alert.tumblr.com)  
> ps. the prompts for this challenge were: long pined for first kiss, cricket ball to the gentleman’s area, whoopee cushion


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